


A Face in its Own Right

by IAmANonnieMouse



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Backstory, Eames is magic, Inception Big Bang Challenge, M/M, i never know how to tag my stuff sorry guys lol, waves hands vaguely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 04:10:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20057803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse
Summary: Arthur was ten when the moon fell from the sky.





	A Face in its Own Right

**Author's Note:**

> This work was created as part of the Inception Big Bang Challenge, organized by the lovely [dreaminghigher](https://dreaminghigher.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I had the honor and privilege and all-around ABSOLUTE ENJOYMENT of working with [whirling](https://noitsnacktime.tumblr.com/) and [mizunoir](https://mizunoir.tumblr.com/). Their art is embedded in this fic, but direct links to the works are posted at the end as well. Please join me in squeeing over their masterpieces because THEIR ART IS SO. AMAZINGLY. GOOD. I AM NOT WORTHY!!!!
> 
> Without further ado, here is the final work! I hope you all enjoy!

* 

  
_Art by Mizunoir_  


*

Arthur was ten when the moon fell from the sky. It was hours past sunset, and the once-exciting woods were now vast and terrifying. Arthur was busy searching for the way home, and he glanced up just in time to watch the moon bounce between the stars then land with a dull thud at his feet.

Arthur looked around and decided the path on his left looked friendly enough to walk down. He started towards it, but the moon rocked into motion and crashed into his shin.

Moons were heavier than they looked. 

"If you want something, just ask," Arthur said, rubbing his leg. "You don't have to roll into me. That's rude."

_Terribly sorry,_ the moon murmured. _But you weren't listening to me._

Arthur rolled his eyes. "That's because you weren't saying anything."

_Home isn't that way,_ the moon informed him. _It's the other way._

That caught Arthur's interest. "Which other way?" he asked.

_This other way,_ the moon said, and it started to roll away.

Arthur followed it.

*

It was an uneventful walk back. Arthur told the moon about his mom and his best friend, Mal, and asked what life was like in outer space. The moon shared stories of arguments between stars that lasted for longer than Arthur could ever live, and complained about rude meteors who never cared if anything was in their way.

The sun was just starting to lighten the sky when the moon rolled to the edge of Arthur's front porch.

_Here you are,_ it said. _Home sweet home._

"Thanks," Arthur said. "Do you know how to get back to your home now?"

_I'll be fine._

"Okay. If you wait a minute, you can meet my mom." Arthur turned toward the house and called, "Mom?"

"Arthur!" His mom came running from inside the house and immediately wrapped him in a tight hug. "Arthur, where on earth have you been? I've been worried sick!"

"Sorry." Arthur inhaled her familiar scent. "I got lost in the woods. The moon showed me the way back home."

"The moon?"

"Yeah." Arthur turned and pointed to the edge of the porch, but there was only grass and dirt. On the horizon, the sun fully emerged, bathing them in warm light. "It was right there," Arthur said with a small frown. "I guess the sun scared it away."

Arthur's mom clutched him close. "I'm so glad you're okay," she said. "Come inside, and we'll have some breakfast."

"Okay," Arthur said. He took her hand and followed her into the house. "Mom," he said as she bustled around the kitchen, "I'm going to be an astronaut."

"An astronaut?" She smiled, her eyes tired. "What happened to being an architect?"

"Architects don't go to the moon," Arthur said simply.

*

Behind Arthur's house was a small lake. The following night, he sat at its edge and watched the moon's reflection in the water.

_See something you like?_

Arthur turned. A man was sitting next to him.

"Hello," Arthur said. "Thanks again for helping me get home last night."

The moon smiled. "How did you know it was me?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. He picked up a pebble and tossed it into the water, watching the ripples distort the reflection. "How can you be here and there at the same time?"

The moon leaned back on his elbows and stared up at the sky. "Same way I can be in the lake and the sky at the same time."

Arthur frowned. "That's not the same thing. The lake's just reflecting the light from the moon. From you."

The moon turned to smile brightly at him. "Well aren't you a smart one, hm?" He leaned in and whispered, "I'm a reflection, too. We all are, at the end of the day."

Arthur thought about that. It didn't make sense, but that didn't mean it was wrong. He looked up at the moon in the sky, then at the moon sitting next to him.

"You never told me your name," he said.

The moon stared at him, eyes sharp. "Eames. You can call me Eames."

"I'm going to be an astronaut, Eames," Arthur said. "Then I can come and visit you in the sky."

Eames smiled again. Arthur wouldn't have thought the moon liked to smile. "I would like that very much, Arthur," Eames said. "Very much, indeed."

*

It was going to take a very long time to get to the moon, Arthur discovered. He had to get to high school, then _college_, and then he had to figure out how to work at NASA—after he had at least three years' experience doing space things.

All of this was, in Arthur's eyes, completely doable. He just didn’t appreciate how _long_ it was going to take.

"Mom," he asked one evening, "why is it so much work to become an astronaut?"

She smiled fondly at him. "Anything worth having takes work."

Arthur thought about it and decided she was probably right.

*

"It's going to be a while before I can come visit you," Arthur told the moon the next time they saw each other. "I didn't realize astronauts had to learn so much before they could go into space."

Eames looked at him from where he was sprawled along the water's edge. "It's alright. I'm not going anywhere."

Arthur flopped onto the grass next to him. "Why can't I just become an adult already?" he asked. "I'm sick of being a kid."

"Just one of the rules of life." Eames turned and gifted Arthur with his sharp gaze. "But as I always say, rules are made to be broken."

"This one isn't so easy to break," Arthur admitted.

Eames smiled. "So it would seem."

They left it at that.

*

"Arthur," Mal called, "come and play."

Arthur didn't look up from his book. "I can't play, I'm going to become an astronaut."

She skipped over to the bench he was sitting on and read over his shoulder. "Partial derivatives and the chain rule." She placed an arm around his shoulder. "Arthur, why are you reading about calculus? You're ten."

"I'm going to become an astronaut," he repeated, slower this time. "Astronauts need to know math."

Mal sighed and gently took the book from him. "Come play," she said. "Calculus can wait for a minute."

Arthur marked the page he was on. "Fine," he grumbled. "What are we playing?"

Mal grinned.

*

Mal's father was an eccentric man who wore jackets with patches on the elbows and listened to AC/DC while he designed new buildings. He also tended to be very forgetful, and he never noticed when Mal and Arthur played in his office.

A month ago, Mal and Arthur had discovered a large, silver briefcase in the bottom drawer of his desk. Its password was the one Mal's father used for everything, and it had taken mere minutes to open the case and stare at its contents in awe.

"I thought your dad was an architect," Arthur had said.

Mal had reached out and traced her fingers over the large button in the center of the case, connected to six separate, neatly coiled wires. "I thought he was, too."

This afternoon, as Mal excitedly dragged Arthur into the office, she said, "I figured out what it does."

They pulled out the briefcase together and set it on the floor. "These things," Mal said, uncoiling a wire, "go into us. And we hit that button, and something happens."

Arthur frowned. "What happens?"

"I don't know," Mal admitted. "But I saw daddy using it, so I know that's how it works. He had some guests over last night. I was supposed to be in bed."

Arthur reached out and curled one of the lines around his finger. Maybe this machine could make him an adult so he could become an astronaut sooner.

"Do you want to try it with me?" Mal asked.

Arthur smiled and said, "Rules are made to be broken."

Mal had to help him with the needle, and he couldn't help but wince at the sting. "You should lie down," Mal said. "I think it makes us go to sleep."

"It's a sleeping machine?" Arthur was much less impressed. "Mal—"

"Just trust me," Mal said, and she pressed the large button in the middle before Arthur could argue.

*

Arthur was in the woods. It was night, but this time he wasn't afraid.

"You should never be afraid of the dark," Eames said. "Because that's where I'll always be."

Arthur looked at him. "What are we doing here?"

"We," Eames said, "are taking an evening stroll."

"Why?" Arthur asked. "How did I sneak out of the house?"

Eames looked at him. "So inquisitive at such a young age." He walked further down the path. "Don't you want to find your friend? She's this way."

Arthur followed him. "Mal? Why is she out here?"

"You're playing a game," Eames said. "Don't you remember?"

"We don't play games in the woods," Arthur said. "Mal hates the woods."

"Well, you're playing here tonight. Come on. Mal's this way."

Arthur frowned. "This isn't right."

Eames stopped and turned around, his eyes refracting the moonlight like pieces of shattered glass. "Don't you trust me?" he asked.

Arthur hesitated. "This isn't right," he repeated. "I don't know what's going on, but—this isn't happening right now."

"Arthur." Eames stepped closer. "I'm as real as you are."

"No," Arthur said. "You're not. You're just a reflection."

Eames froze. "You think I'm not real?"

"You're not real," Arthur said. "None of this is real." It was coming back to him, Mal sitting in her father's office, sliding the needle under his skin.

"This isn't real," he repeated, and then the world tilted under his feet, and he was falling, falling, falling—

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?" Mal's father shouted.

Arthur sat up and tried to rub his face, the needle tugging at his wrist. Across from him, Mal stood, cowed. "I just wanted to know," she said, eyes wide.

"This," her father hissed, "is not a toy, Mal." He reached over and helped Arthur disentangle himself from everything. "Go home," he said. "I'll be speaking with your mother later."

Arthur glanced at Mal and hurried home, Eames' splinter-sharp eyes haunting his every step.

*

Mal's father came over later that evening. There was a long discussion involving raised voices and whispered names, and Arthur watched the moon from his bedroom window and thought about his calculus book that he had left at Mal's house.

"I thought you said you were going to keep them safe from that!" his mom said. "How is this safe, Miles?"

Arthur fell asleep before Mal's father left, his hand resting on the patch of moonlight shining through his window.

At breakfast the next morning, Arthur's mom said, "Arthur, honey, we're going to move."

Arthur frowned. "Move where?"

"Closer to the city."

Arthur was no longer interested in his pancakes. "Why?"

Arthur's mom looked at him steadily. "I think you know why."

Arthur pushed back his chair, left his plate in the kitchen sink, and went to sit at the water's edge. "How am I going to be able to talk to you if you don't have a reflection?" he asked.

_You should never be afraid of the dark,_ the moon murmured in his ear. _Because that's where I'll always be._

*

The city was loud and busy and crowded, and Arthur _hated_ it. "Why did we have to move?" he muttered as he helped his mom unpack. "That machine thing was weird anyway, you could have just told me not to touch it."

Arthur's mom sighed and placed her hands on his shoulders. "There's more to it than that," she said. "Things are…complicated."

Arthur looked down at his feet.

"Where's Mal?" he asked into the silence. "When is she moving here?"

"Mal won't be moving here." his mom said. "Her mom wants her to stay in France for the rest of the summer."

"So she'll be back in September," Arthur said.

"No," his mom said. "She's going to a boarding school in France. Her parents thought it best."

Somehow, Arthur wasn't that surprised.

*

That night, Arthur looked for the moon, but all he could see out of his new window was the building next door.

"Are you there?" he asked the sky he couldn’t see. "I'm sorry I had to go. I promise I'll find a way to get back to you."

The clouds shifted and the moon shone down from the sky, catching on the stone façade. _I'll be here,_ the moon murmured. _I'm not going anywhere._

*

Seventh grade sucked. There was no way around it. It didn't help that Arthur was new in school, and everyone had made their friend groups back when they were still in diapers.

But Arthur pushed through, reading calculus books during pre-algebra and ignoring everyone else around him. They didn't matter.

Mal sent him letters, but it took so long for mail to cross the Atlantic that it was far from satisfactory. He replied to each one, lying through his teeth about how great it was to be in the seventh grade, asking what high school was like in France.

And every night, before he went to sleep, he looked for the moon.

*

Eighth grade was worse than seventh grade. Arthur wanted to just hurry up and get to high school already, because after that there was still college, and honestly this whole "school" situation was just one of the painful rules of life.

Arthur graduated eighth grade and started high school. Across the pond, Mal was applying to colleges and trying to decide between art and philosophy. The view from Arthur's window was the same as always, and some nights, when Arthur was heading to bed, he forgot to look for the moon.

*

Sophomore year of high school, Arthur took chemistry and fell in love. This was better than math, this was better than _space._ Who cared about the solar system? Arthur could determine the products of chemical reactions and explain why people could see their breath on cold mornings.

"I'm going to be a Chemistry major," Arthur told his mom over dinner.

She smiled at him. "What happened to going to the moon?"

Arthur shrugged. "People have been there already. There's nothing special about it. But with a Chemistry degree, there are so many things I can do. And," he added, "I could still work at NASA as a chemist if I really wanted to."

Arthur's mom smiled and asked if he wanted more to eat.

*

Mal met a guy in college. _His name is Dominic,_ she wrote. _We stay up at night and talk about dreams. He's so amazing, Arthur. You would love him._

Arthur wasn't too sure about that, but he knew better than to argue. _I'll have to meet him when I come visit,_ he wrote back, the words ringing hollow. He drew a little heart next to the sentence to appease his guilty conscience.

*

Arthur's college roommate was, as he put it, going through a rough phase in his life, and apparently the only way to cope with it was to blast a combination of heavy metal and depressing love ballads.

Arthur spent most of his time in the library.

He made friends with a bunch of kids in his major, and they sat together most nights, struggling through their homework assignments.

"Fuck chemistry," Tami sighed one night. "Why are we chem majors, anyway?"

"You wanted to go into pharmaceuticals," Brett reminded her. "I just picked it because I didn't know what else to go into."

"That doesn't sound like you at all," Rebecca commented sweetly. They all laughed.

At the other end of the table, Meg started packing her things. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm dead. I'll do the rest of this later."

Arthur closed his notebook. "Heading back to the dorms? I'll come with you."

"Cute babies need their sleep," Brett said.

"It's why our grades are higher than yours," Meg responded with a smile. She waved at everyone else and left, with Arthur trailing behind her.

"Does he drive you crazy or is it just me?" she asked when they were outside of the library.

"Who, Brett?" Arthur pulled his backpack on. "I think he drives everyone crazy."

Meg sighed. "He just bugs the crap out of me."

"Same," Arthur said. He glanced up at the sky and hesitated at the sight of the full moon.

"Arthur?" Meg stopped and looked back. "Something wrong?"

"No," Arthur said, tearing his eyes away. "Sorry, I sort of spaced out for a second there."

Meg laughed. "No worries. I think we're all totally exhausted lately. This semester has been brutal."

Arthur nodded and snuck another look at the moon.

_I'm still here,_ a hauntingly familiar voice murmured in his ear. _I'm not going anywhere._

*

A couple nights later, on the rare occasion when his roommate wasn't moping around the room, Arthur grabbed a small mirror and moved to the window.

"This isn't gonna work," he said to himself. He held up the mirror and angled it so that he could see the moon.

"Hello, Arthur." Eames was sitting at his desk, with the smile that still echoed in Arthur's memories. "I've missed our evening chats."

"So," Arthur said, drawing out the word. "You weren't some childhood imaginary friend, then. Does this mean I'm crazy?"

"Of course not." Eames' eyes caught the light and splintered it. "What have you been doing? Tell me everything."

Arthur sat on his bed and talked.

*

  
[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/182095722@N05/48411102996/in/dateposted-public/)  
  
_Art by Whirling_  


*

Graduation came a lot faster than Arthur expected, but the most pleasant surprise was Mal. She threw herself at him at the end of the ceremony, and Arthur clutched her close. She had grown, but at the same time, she hadn't changed at all.

"Look at you," she cooed, "all grown up."

Arthur laughed. "I could say the same to you."

She pulled away and straightened his cap. "What are your plans now?"

"No clue," Arthur said. "I was going to see where the wind takes me."

"Come to Paris," Mal said. "I'm working on a project I think you'll like."

Arthur smiled and hugged her again and followed her to Paris.

*

Dominic Cobb was a starry-eyed idealist who could wax poetic about moldy bread if the opportunity presented himself. Arthur couldn't help but like him, especially for the way he was with Mal.

"What is the most resilient parasite?" he asked Arthur after they were introduced.

Arthur frowned at him. "I don't know, cholera?"

Mal rolled her eyes. "Dom, save it for another day." She ushered Arthur into the room and sat him on the couch. On the table in front of them sat a silver briefcase just like the one that had been in Mal's father's office all those years ago.

"Let me get this straight," Arthur said for the millionth time. Mal had told him on the plane, but he still couldn't believe it. "Your father sent you to France to keep you away from the thing in his office. And you came to France and are now _working_ with the very thing he sent you to Paris to keep you away from."

Mal beamed. "Isn't it marvelous?"

"That's one word for it."

"The technology is amazing, Arthur," she said. "Shared dreams. With this device, you and I can inhabit a dream together."

"Okay, but what's the point?"

"It's not the dreaming that's so important," Dom said. "It's what we can do in those dreams. They allow us to access someone's subconscious."

"So you can read their diary easier?" Arthur asked.

Dom smiled. "What is the most resilient parasite?" he asked again.

Arthur looked at him and thought about the lake behind his house, the moon shining in the sky, and a man with splinter-sharp eyes. "An idea," he said.

Dom blinked at him. "Yeah," he said. "You're right." He shook himself and placed a hand on the briefcase. "With this technology, we can access someone's mind and plant ideas in their heads."

"Dom," Mal chided. She turned to Arthur. "In theory, we can," she said. "So far, we've been able to get information from people. But Dom thinks we can take this a step further and plant information in someone's mind instead of stealing it."

Arthur looked at them both. "This is insane."

Mal beamed. "I know. Isn't it wonderful?"

*

Arthur was standing at the lake behind his house. When he turned, the moon was at his side.

"Not quite NASA," Eames said with a smirk. "Did you change your mind about visiting me in space?"

Arthur glanced at the lake. Eames didn't have a reflection, but Arthur could see the moon reflecting from the sky.

"Is this going to help me get to you any faster?" Arthur asked.

"What, dreamshare?" Eames smiled at him. "Like I've said, Arthur. I'm not going anywhere. Take your time. Play with this new technology, try to break into people's minds. I'll see you at the end of it all."

"Why does it have to be one or the other?" Arthur pressed. "Why can't—"

"Arthur! There you are!" Dom came running around the house. "I'm sorry, normally we start in the same place in the dream, but something must have happened."

Arthur instinctively looked for Eames, but he knew he was already gone.

"Arthur?" Dom asked. "Everything okay?"

Arthur smiled at him. "Yeah. Now show me all these cool things you can do in a dream."

*

Dom showed him how to build. They created offices, skyscrapers, bridges—entire cities. They walked on the Penrose steps, then a mobius strip. Arthur fell in love with dreamshare, with the power to make the impossible into a new reality.

When the timer ran out, Arthur blinked into consciousness and smiled at Mal. "You have the best ideas," he said. 

She grinned. "I know."

*

Since dreamshare wasn't common knowledge, they made money by taking jobs through slightly not-quite-illegal means. Dom marketed them as "dream therapists," which, Arthur argued, made them sound like hippies or crazy ladies at carnivals.

Dom sulked for an entire day, but he never changed the name.

Their clients were mostly women with cheating husbands, or athletes who wanted to know more about their competition. Arthur adored his appointments with the elderly, who usually wanted to relive choice moments from their lives or run through a field in a body that wasn't weighted down by the years.

In their spare time, Dom and Mal kept pushing at the limits of the technology. 

"What if we dreamed while we were still under? Created another dream within the first one?" Mal asked.

Arthur frowned. "Why do you need to? What we have now works fine."

"But imagine," Dom said, picking up the thread, "what we could access if we were another layer deeper. I bet the subconscious unlocks the further down you go."

"You have absolutely nothing to back up that theory," Arthur pointed out.

"But don't you want to know?" Mal asked. "We can create anything in dreams. With five minutes on the timer, we can learn more about a person than they could ever imagine. Don't you want to know what else we can do?"

"You still think you can plant an idea in someone's mind?" Arthur asked.

"If we can," Dom said, "just think about what we could do. We could cure phobias. Help people with PTSD. Make bad guys want to be good guys. The possibilities are endless!"

"They're unrealistic." Arthur crossed his arms. "They're…You think too highly of yourself. These aren't just harmless experiments in a lab, Dom. You would have to do this to _humans._ Actual people."

Dom ignored him.

*

Arthur started taking over their maybe-not-quite-legal business of dream therapy so Dom and Mal could do their freakish experiments in peace. They could endanger themselves on their own time, he told himself. It wouldn't affect him either way.

In the evenings, Arthur took a PASIV up to his room and conducted some experiments of his own. Some nights, he created entire cities, to test the limits of what he could build. Other nights, he just sat by the lake at his childhood home. 

But in every dream, without fail, Eames was always there.

"Are you real down here?" Arthur asked him. "Are you a projection from my subconscious? Or is this just another type of reflection to you?"

"Is anyone real?" Eames responded lightly. "Such silly questions, darling."

Arthur rolled his eyes and turned to stare at the lake.

"I'm officially not interested in becoming an astronaut," he said into the quiet.

Eames shrugged. "Close enough. You're probably closer to reaching me with this than with space."

"How do you figure?"

Eames grinned at him, eyes sharp as ever. "If I told you the answer, that would take away all the fun."

Arthur sighed and sprawled on his back, staring up at the stars.

"I think they shouldn't be doing what they're doing," he said. "Dom and Mal. But I don't really have a good enough reason to stop them."

Eames said nothing, and the silence grew to fill the space between them. Arthur let his eyes close, and he listened to the crickets singing.

Right before the timer went off, he heard Eames murmur, "Stay safe, Arthur."

And then he woke up. The moon was right outside his window. Arthur stared at it for a moment before he sat up and put the PASIV away.

*

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/182095722@N05/48411102846/in/dateposted-public/)  
  
_Art by Whirling_

*

"We found another level," Mal gushed. "It's amazing, Arthur. Time is even slower there, and you can _feel_ the freedom. There's less resistance in the dreaming—creating is as easy as thought." 

"Great," Arthur said into his breakfast. "Now you know. Time to go back to dream therapy, right?"

"What? No, silly." Mal smiled. "It's time to find out how much we can do down there."

*

Arthur found the definitely-illegal side of dreamshare by accident, but he didn't regret it at all. These jobs focused more on corporate espionage and company secrets than romantic walks along a beach. The stakes were higher, the payout bigger, and Arthur completely fell in love with the energy of it all.

In his periphery, Mal and Dom kept digging into dreams—they found a _third_ level only months after they found the second one—but Arthur had more pressing matters to deal with. He told himself they were adults who could make their own decisions, then spent long nights worrying about what they were going to discover next.

He juggled his dream therapy and corporate espionage careers as months turned into years. Dom and Mal got married, and Arthur was their best man. Mal had Phillipa, then James. Arthur joked about how fucking old he felt holding a baby, and Mal joked about how old _she_ felt after giving birth to the baby. Dom loyally said they both hadn't aged a day.

Arthur found out that Eames could appear with him in the daytime, so he started carrying a mirror with him at all times. 

"The sun _is_ how I glow at night, you know," Eames said. "The moon just reflects the sun's light."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I know, I'm not an idiot."

"Then stop asking me why I'm around while the sun's still out," Eames said with a smirk.

He started working with Arthur on his corporate espionage jobs, helping with the research and getting Arthur information he couldn’t find anywhere else.

Arthur eventually approached Eames and said, "Should I be concerned about how you're getting me this info?"

Eames smirked. "Don't worry, Arthur. I'm never wrong."

Finally, Arthur took the plunge and brought Eames to work with him.

"What do you do?" the extractor asked, unimpressed with Eames' British charm.

"I become other people in dreams," Eames said.

Arthur blinked

"Yeah?" the extractor said. "Show me."

The three of them went under, and Eames created a tri-fold mirror on a table top. As he fiddled with the two sides, Arthur watched the reflections. Eames was in one, the moon appeared briefly in the other, and when Arthur looked back at Eames, he was a bombshell blonde in a skintight dress.

"Hot damn," the extractor said. "Bro's got skills."

Later, when it was just the two of them, Arthur said, "Is there anything else I should know about?"

Eames glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"You're the moon," Arthur said. "You can exist in some weird corporeal body if I reflect you in a mirror. You know about dreamshare, you track down information nobody else can find, and now you can turn into other people while we're under." Arthur shrugged. "I'm just waiting for the day you tell me you can turn into a dragon, or something. That's all."

Eames smiled at him. "Reflections, darling. It's all reflections."

"What are you?" Arthur asked helplessly.

"I'm Eames," he said. "That's all that matters."

Back home, Arthur continued to argue with Dom and Mal about their experiments—they were trying to find a _fourth_ level, what the fuck—but for some reason he never mentioned Eames, despite the massive reputation Eames was building for himself in the definitely-illegal side of the dreamshare community. 

Inevitably, Dom found out about Arthur's involvement in the definitely-illegal stuff. He tried to pull a Dad Talk that Arthur quickly shut down.

"You don't listen to me about your experiments," he said. "I don't listen to you about my career choices."

Arthur split his hours at home babysitting James and Phillipa and doing some low-maintenance dream therapy jobs. He travelled around the world for the corporate espionage ones, and Eames kept him company every step of the way.

Things were _good._ They were happy.

Until they weren't.

*

The call came in at two in the morning. Arthur was away on one of his definitely-illegal jobs, and he'd been up arguing with Eames until one in the morning over the best way to get to their mark. He grabbed the phone without opening his eyes and said, "It better be the end of the fucking world."

"A–Arthur? Oh, thank god. Arthur, I—Mal, she—"

Arthur was awake in a second. "Dom? Where are you? What's wrong? Is Mal okay?"

He could hear white noise in the background, or maybe that was blood rushing through his ears.

Dom managed to choke out three words: Mal, jumped, and help. 

Arthur left his notes for the rest of his team to find, walked out of the job, and was on the next plane home.

*

He missed Dom by day. A single, fucking day.

"Answer your fucking phone," he growled as the line rang and rang and rang. Dom didn't pick up.

"Where else could he go?" Eames asked.

"I have no idea." Arthur buried the urge to throw his phone out the window. "Fucking Dom."

Mal's parents flew in and took over the house in a tornado of perfect calm. Arthur remembered Miles' face from that day, years ago now, when he and Mal had first played with the PASIV.

_This is not a toy, Mal._

"You were right," Arthur said to him. "This isn't a toy."

Miles looked at him, lips drawn tight, and didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

*

It took a week for Arthur to track Dom down. He left Eames up in the sky this time when he hopped on the plane. He needed to handle this himself.

He broke into Dom's hotel room as an extra _fuck you,_ tossed Dom in the shower to sober him up, then sat him down and said, "Explain."

Usually, when Dom talked, it was smooth and inspired and enlightened. Arthur once imagined he could see all the thoughts flying around Dom's head, all the words flowing seamlessly from his mouth. This time, Dom was whining, cluttering his words on top of each other, mushing syllables and eating vowels.

Arthur wanted to cry.

"Dom," he said, when the avalanche of sounds had stopped. "Dom, look at me. What the _fuck_ were you thinking? You're never going to be able to clear your name. You fucking _ran._"

"I know," Dom said. "I'm sorry. Arthur—" His words were more breath than sound. "Arthur, please. I need you to help me."

Arthur thought about Mal, about their childhoods playing around the lake, about their juvenile letters sent across an ocean, and he wanted to shoot something. Maybe Dom.

"I told you," he gritted out. "I told you this was dangerous. I told you to leave it the hell alone."

"Arthur, please," Dom said.

Arthur closed his eyes. 

"I have a job lined up in two weeks," he said when the silence became unbearable. "Don't fuck this up."

"I won't." Dom's face was a pitiful mixture of relief and greed. He saw Arthur was a lifeline, and he was all but cementing himself to it. Arthur could already feel him drowning them both. "Thank you."

"Don't," Arthur bit out as he stood. "Two weeks. I'll come get you."

He walked out of the hotel room, then out of the hotel, and he didn't stop until he was in a different country, in a different time zone where nobody knew him, and there, finally, he sat somewhere, all alone, and closed his eyes and grieved.

*

Two weeks later, Arthur picked up Dom as promised and tossed him on the plane. Dom looked like he hadn't slept once in the past two weeks, but Arthur, still nursing his bitterness and grief, didn't even feel sorry for him. He hadn't slept either.

He saddled Dom with the architect and left them chatting over models and sketches so he could duck into the back alley at their warehouse and pull out his mirror.

Eames was unimpressed.

"Stress is not a good look on you," he commented, looking Arthur up and down.

"Thanks," Arthur grunted. "It doesn't feel good either."

There was a pause. Arthur filled the silence by pacing in circles, fighting the weariness soaking into his bones.

"I could've sworn I told you to stay safe," Eames said. 

"I have." Arthur frowned.

"Not anymore." Eames crossed his arms. "Dom's a man on a ledge. Nothing to lose, everything to gain. And he's going to drag you right down with him."

Arthur sighed. "I can't just hang him out to dry."

"He hung himself," Eames said. "You know that, right? You didn't make him run. He made that choice on his own."

Arthur rubbed his face. "He didn't make Mal jump either."

Eames paused. "Maybe, maybe not. That's still not your responsibility."

"She was my best friend!"

"And she's gone. She's another star up in the sky, and I know you miss her, darling, but your guilt over not being there for her won't go away if you tie yourself to Dom's drowning ship."

"Eames—" Arthur rubbed at his face. "I can't. I just can't."

Eames sighed. "Fine. If you insist on doing this, I'll help you stay afloat long enough to get Dom home."

Arthur paused. "Why? What's in it for you?"

Eames was quiet for a moment. "You once said you wanted to meet me," he murmured. "When this stuff with Dom is settled, I thought you could. Meet the real me, not my reflection."

"I don't even know what's real anymore," Arthur confessed.

In a blink, Eames was only inches away. "Me," he whispered, raising a hand to cup Arthur's cheek. "I'm real, Arthur. And so are you."

Arthur closed his eyes, shuddering. 

"Here's what we're going to do," Eames said. "You're going to go back to the hotel to get some sleep. Tell the extractor you're running data or something. I'll do your research for you, and I'll have it ready before you go to your test run tomorrow morning. Sound good?"

It was a lifeline Arthur hadn't dared hope for. He reached up and wrapped a hand around Eames' wrist, thinking about how solid it felt, reflection or not. It was the first time they had touched. Arthur didn't dare open his eyes. "You promise?"

"I promise," Eames said. "I'll even color-code it the way you like. Now get some sleep." He pulled away as Arthur opened his eyes. "Let me help you, Arthur. I'll keep you safe."

*

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/182095722@N05/48411247012/in/dateposted-public/)  
  
_Art by Whirling_

*

Eames had the information ready for Arthur in the morning, along with a cup of coffee. Arthur stopped him from walking into the warehouse with him, because he wasn't ready to have that conversation with Dom yet.

"I don't understand," Eames said, frowning. "Just tell him I'm a work connection. Say I rob banks, I don't bloody care."

Arthur chugged his coffee. "Just for this job," he said, ignoring the pleading in his own voice. "Let me make sure he's okay for this in the first place. Then I'll introduce you."

Eames sighed, but he didn't argue. He turned and walked away, the sun skittering across his shoulders.

Arthur watched him go before he turned to enter the warehouse. 

The minute he walked in, he wished he had let Eames come with him.

"I should be the dreamer," Dom was saying to the extractor. "I have experience, I know what I'm doing. I'm an architect, for crying out loud."

Sleep-deprived and wide-eyed was not a good look on Dom. It changed his look from inspired to crazed.

"Listen, buddy," the extractor said. "I don't know you. I don't _want_ to know you. I just want this job done."

"If you let me be the dreamer, you're not even down a man," Dom pressed. "I'll sit in a corner and do nothing. Your team can handle everything."

Arthur chugged the dregs of his coffee. He didn't want to deal with this, so he ignored them, skirting along the edge of the room and sitting at his desk to look over the research Eames had given him.

Just as he'd promised, Eames had color-coded it.

*

Dom won his argument, and Arthur decided it was for the best. It would keep Dom busy, keep him out of trouble.

He was so wrong.

Ten minutes into the dream, the extractor was a lifeless body on the ground, and Mal still held the knife in her hand. It was the first time he'd seen her since—God, he couldn't even think about it, he _couldn't,_ and Mal was in front of him, and she looked beautiful but _wrong,_ and the knife still shone from underneath the blood.

"Mal," Arthur said, her name burning his tongue. "Mal, what are you doing?"

She turned to him, eyes blank, and started forward. He eyed the knife. There was a gun holstered at his hip, but he couldn't bring himself to draw it. Couldn't even _think_ it. 

"Mal, what are you doing here?" he asked.

She froze midstride, arm raised, and Arthur watched her slowly slide to the ground. Eames was standing behind her. Over her.

"It isn't her," Eames said immediately. "She belongs to Dom."

Arthur swallowed. Underneath his feet, the road trembled. 

"Go," Eames said. "Make sure he isn't being an idiot. Hold this together long enough to get what you need. I'll hold off the projections here."

Arthur hesitated.

"I promise," Eames said. "I'm not going anywhere, darling."

Arthur nodded and ran deeper into the city. With every step, he tried to force away the image of Mal, eyes cold, ready to kill him, knife shining in her hand.

*

"Dom," Arthur hissed after the job was over. "We need to fucking talk."

"Can't it wait?" Dom asked, rubbing his forehead. The bags under his eyes looked more permanent than tattoos.

"Mal almost stabbed me," Arthur bit out. "After she had finished gutting the extractor."

Dom sighed. "I'm sorry. I should've told you."

"What the fuck is there to tell?" Arthur demanded. "What did you do down there? Did you find that fourth level?"

Dom hesitated.

"You fucking did," Arthur said. "Is that what killed her?"

"No." Dom shook his head. "It can't be. I'm still here, I didn't jump. And I was down there with her. I…"

Arthur gritted his teeth.

"I have it under control, okay?" Dom glanced at him.

"You have _what_ under control?" Arthur glared at him. "What was that? Because it sure as fuck wasn't Mal."

Dom kept shaking his head.

"Mal's dead, Dom," Arthur said, and he took a perverse pleasure in watching him flinch. "She's dead. She jumped. So why the hell do you have a projection of her who _stabs people?"_

"I'll figure it out," Dom whispered. "Just give me time, Arthur. Please."

Arthur sighed. He put Dom on a plane, then took a different one in the opposite direction.

*

Dom called him three weeks later. "Just one more job," he said. "Will you help me?"

Arthur was sitting in a window seat in a small bed and breakfast. He pressed his head against the glass and stared up at the crescent moon.

"Arthur," Dom said, voice cracking.

And Arthur closed his eyes and sold his soul.

*

One more job turned into three, then five. It took them across countries, through endless days. Arthur didn't let Dom be the dreamer anymore, and when Mal kept showing up regardless, he refused to show Dom any hint of the layout, even the architect's designs. It was exhausting, but it was the only way to keep them all safe.

Some nights, Arthur got back to his hotel room and thought about leaving. About catching the next flight to somewhere, _anywhere_, and letting Dom fend for himself.

But Eames kept him going. Eames took on the bulk of the research to let Arthur catch up on sleep, and he was always watching Arthur's back when they went under.

Every job, Eames offered to help in the warehouse with the team. And every job, Arthur told him no.

Eames was the only thing left that was solely Arthur's, and God help him, he wanted to keep it that way. Dom couldn't ruin this for him, too.

But then, on their seventh job, Dom finished his task early, and he turned onto the street just as Arthur and Eames pressed against each other, back to back, to shoot down the mob of projections that had swarmed them.

"Who are you?" Dom demanded when the smoke had cleared.

"Eames," said Eames. "It's good to finally meet you, Dom. I've heard a lot about you."

Dom squinted. "How do you know who I am?"

"He's with me," Arthur said.

Dom frowned. "Why haven't you mentioned him before?"

Arthur glanced at Eames. "I don't tell you all my secrets, Dom."

Dom bristled at that. "So, are you the muscle? You just shoot projections and create distractions?"

"Among other things," Eames said, and he raised his gun and shot Dom in the head.

"Eames, what the fuck?" Arthur shouted.

"He was annoying me," Eames said. "I didn't want to listen to him anymore."

Arthur shook his head. "He's never going to want to work with you now."

"Just tell him I can turn into other people, and he'll be over the moon—no pun intended."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Shouldn't we have a fancy word for it by now? It's been long enough."

"Sure," Eames said with a shrug. "Call me a forger."

*

Dom wasn't quite as excited as Eames thought he would be.

"He shot me in the head, Arthur," he repeated.

"Yes, he did. But he's good at what he does. I trust him."

"And what exactly does he _do_ other than shoot people?"

_You're one to talk,_ Arthur wanted to say. _Mal stabs people._

He bit his tongue. "He's a forger. He can imitate people in the dream."

Dom scowled. "You've never mentioned anyone else who can do that."

"I don't know anyone else who can."

Dom didn't appreciate that.

"I accepted another job for us," he said. "Cobol Engineering wants some information on their competitor. Eames isn't allowed on the job."

"Fuck you," Arthur bit out. "The fuck you can tell me what to do. I've been keeping you alive in this fucking industry, and Eames is the one who's helped us through every single job, whether you like it or not."

"He shot me," Dom started.

"And I don't fucking blame him!" Arthur shouted back.

Dom glared at him. "I already committed us to the job. Not Eames." He shoved a plane ticket at Arthur. "I'll meet you there."

Arthur watched him go.

*

Eames shrugged when Arthur told him that night. "It's a mutual dislike," he said. "I can still help you on the research. He'll never know. Just promise me you'll be careful."

Arthur nodded. "I promise."

*

He wasn't careful enough. When he woke up on the train, his knee was throbbing so badly he limped.

*

_I told you._ It was on the tip of Arthur's tongue from the moment he saw Dom at their hotel to the minute Saito sat on their helicopter with a bruised and bloodied Nash.

He watched Saito trap Dom into promising Inception, using his children as bait. It was an impossible job, and Arthur dreaded what was going to happen when they failed.

But, in the back of his mind, he thought: _Finally. If this works, I'll finally be free of him._

*

For all that Dom was a crazy man with nothing to lose, he still knew how to learn from his mistakes. He went to Miles for a new, young architect because he had burned too many bridges in the dreamshare industry. And he told Arthur they needed a forger.

Eames recommended Yusuf for their chemist, and Arthur, too used to Eames' tactics, didn't even question it; he just passed it along to Dom and let him fly to Mombasa.

Arthur honestly admitted to himself that if Dom got killed along the way by Cobol thugs, he wouldn't be overly distraught. 

In Paris, he trained Ariadne and pushed aside memories of Mal.

_Come to Paris with me._

"Lovely," he told Ariadne, struggling to remember the real her instead of her shade. "She was lovely."

Eames kept him moving, like he always had. He took over their team meetings, enjoying the spotlight and creating the entire plan. Arthur watched and snapped at him, prickly at the thought of all these people knowing Eames when Arthur once had him all to himself.

"It's just a reflection," Eames murmured to him one night while they pored over research together. "You're the only one who'll get to meet the real me."

Arthur couldn't hide his smile.

When Eames volunteered to be the dreamer on the third level, Arthur pulled him aside and said, "You sure you can do this? You can be a dreamer?"

"I haven't told you all my secrets just yet, darling," Eames said and started to move away.

Arthur grabbed his arm. "Eames," he said. "Eames, what are you? There's no way you're the moon."

Eames smiled. "You'll find out soon enough."

*

The airport was the same as any other, but Arthur couldn't stop smiling. He pulled his luggage off the carousel and didn't look up as he passed Fischer.

He nodded at Miles as they passed each other. He would go visit them someday, hug James and Phillipa close, but not today. Not when Dom had stolen years from him, when memories of Mal still haunted him. 

He paused outside the airport, breathing in the air. Someone paused at his side, and he let his eyes slip closed.

"Where to now?" he asked Eames.

"Let's play a game, shall we?" Eames murmured in his ear. "There's only one place in the world I've ever wanted to be. Meet me there, and I'll tell you all of my secrets."

Arthur smiled. "You promise?"

"I promise."

*

The house was in shambles after years of abandonment, but Arthur could still recognize it. What he needed wasn't inside the house.

He walked around the back and set his bags down at the edge of the lake. The sun was just starting to set, staining the sky shades of pink and orange and purple. He sat, legs spread in front of him, and waited.

"See something you like?"

Arthur turned. Eames was sitting next to him, grinning broadly. The setting sun caught on his face and shattered, filling Arthur's sight with fractals and prisms. He could see Eames' face—and, underneath it, blurred like a negative that's been overexposed, he caught a glimpse of something more, with angles sharp enough for Arthur to cut himself on.

Arthur smiled and leaned back on his arms. "So," he said, drawing out the word. "Who are you, Eames?"

Eames leaned in, the heat of his body a furnace. "Oh, darling," he said, with a razor-sharp smile. "I thought you'd never ask."

*

**Author's Note:**

> Here are direct links to everyone involved in this! :)  
[Whirling](https://noitsnacktime.tumblr.com/)  
[Art!](https://noitsnacktime.tumblr.com/post/186676987439/you-should-never-be-afraid-of-the-dark-the-moon)
> 
> [Mizunoir](https://mizunoir.tumblr.com/)  
[Art!](https://mizunoir.tumblr.com/post/186680175318/im-a-reflection-too-we-all-are-at-the-end-of)
> 
> [IAmANonnieMouse](https://iamanonniemouse.tumblr.com/)


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